


the best of things

by dothraki_shieldmaiden



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15.18 coda, Coda, Fluff, M/M, No angst only sweet sweet fluff, Post episode 15.18 Despair, Sam and Jack I love you but you're not in this, this is all about my boys getting what they deserve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:14:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27426298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dothraki_shieldmaiden/pseuds/dothraki_shieldmaiden
Summary: There’ssomething.This is significant because, for as long as Castiel can remember, there’s beennothing.---Castiel finds a way out of the Empty.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 36
Kudos: 558





	the best of things

**Author's Note:**

> Because I am just as destroyed as the rest of you, have some fluff. And speak this into existence.

_The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring_

—

There’s _something_. 

This is significant because, for as long as Castiel can remember, there’s been _nothing_. 

The Empty alternates between shoving him forcefully into sleep and yanking him out of it, just so he can experience the full horrors of wakefulness. He wanders and doesn’t know if he’s walking, screams and listens as his cries are swallowed by the darkness. He pulls at his hair just to feel, but even that bright pain is muted. 

_I want you to suffer,_ the Empty had warned, and so far, it’s lived up to its promise. No, he doesn’t regret anything, he’d make the same decisions time and again, as long as they led him here, but he can’t deny that he is suffering. 

It would be better if he could somehow quench the little gutter of light and warmth that still resounds in his chest, but he can never quite manage to do so. Somehow, it still beats, giving him purpose, allowing him to set his compass by its enduring beat. 

And somehow, impossibly, there’s finally _something_ for it to latch onto. 

Castiel walks forward, feeling the sensation of movement for the first time since he can’t remember when. His steps quicken as he runs towards the something, towards something that he almost forgot. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, how many centuries have passed. Time ceased to have meaning a long time ago, and in between bouts of sleeping and waking, Castiel forgot the knack of telling it. Now, he remembers, along with other long forgotten concepts such as fatigue and hope. 

His long neglected heart beats then, violently, with enough force to send him staggering. Castiel runs faster. 

If he were human, if this were earth, then the breath would be tearing out of his lungs. As it is, he feels a ripping in his chest, like he’s shredding apart from the inside out. He feels like a piece of paper torn in half, and he doesn’t know how much of him will be left by the end, but he continues to sprint forward. 

There’s _something_ up ahead. 

A faint golden glimmer, a thread of hope so slender that if he thinks about it too long then he’ll shatter. It twists and turns in front of him, so far in the distance as to almost be a mirage. 

But for once, there is distance. 

Castiel forces his legs to keep moving, even as the pain claws through his chest, ripping into his very essence. Every step brings him the worst pain he’s ever known, but he doesn’t dare to stop. He keeps his eyes fixed on the golden line, now guttering as though it’s struggling to survive. With every step, memories flood back to him. 

The scent of coffee in the mornings when he would start a fresh pot before Dean and Sam awoke. 

The smell of leather and gasoline as he sat in Baby’s backseat. 

The feel of blood and grit underneath his fingernails. 

The salt and butter molecules of popcorn exploding across his tongue as he watches yet another inane movie starring _a young Harrison Ford_. 

The clear sound of Charlie Bradbury’s laughter. 

The whiff of sulfur that followed Meg, the crisp ozone of Hannah, the tang of what he was informed was _an ‘84 and not 19, you have no taste, Cassie_ , by Balthazar. 

The rough flannel of Bobby Singer’s shirt. 

The whisper of Eileen’s fingers moving through the air as she signed information or a joke. 

The fragile strength of Jack, warm through his jacket as Castiel hugged him for the last time. 

The warmth of Sam’s arm slung around his shoulders, the steadiness of him, the unwavering loyalty, the brightness of his smile and joy of his friendship. 

Dean. 

Dean. 

_Dean_. 

Breath finally tears out of him as he sprints, pushing legs which refuse to move faster to fly. The golden tear glows in front of him, the only bright thing in an eternity of nothing. He has to reach it. He _has_ to. 

A scream rips out of his chest as he stumbles his way forward. By now the pain is almost overwhelming, obliterating everything else except the most basic desire for survival, but he can’t give up, he can’t, he _can’t_ –

Even in Hell, Dean’s soul glowed like a beacon, even when he lost hope he was still the most beautiful thing Castiel had ever seen. The smoke and whiskey smell of him, the strength and gentleness of his hands, the rumble of his laugh, the rasp and growl of his voice, the careful way he handled delicate things, the light in his eyes as he would look at Sam and Jack, the sheer _love_ he’d seen shining out of his soul–

With a desperate cry, Castiel launches himself forward, straining towards the beautiful golden tear. 

His hand goes through the rip in the world and for a second, there’s nothing, nothing, nothing–

Strong fingers grab his wrist and _pull_. 

It feels like being tugged through quicksand, the Empty finally realizing that something is wrong and seizing onto him. Darkness covers him, and Castiel can’t see anything, can’t scream, can’t hear. All he knows is the strength of the grip around his hand, the fierce flare of hope in his chest even amidst the ripping pain. 

_No_ , he thinks, with all the force left to him, _no, I_ want _–_

Something finally bursts in his chest, and he thinks he screams, though he doesn’t hear any sound leave his mouth. Instead, he’s pulled, shredded, torn apart, eviscerated, and then, and then–

There’s light and sound and sensation and touch and smell and taste and a thousand different things like _gravity_ and _mass_ and _body_ and Castiel can only gasp, helpless as a newborn as his sightless eyes blink through all the _light_. 

He’s shivering, cold and aching, and he’s never felt this kind of pain before, but it’s glorious. He wouldn’t give up feeling like this for anything, the sunburst of agony flaring through his body as he tries to sort through his senses to try and understand where he is. 

Something warm and soft settles over his shoulders and it’s then that Castiel becomes aware of his body, down to his toes and fingers and the tip of his nose. _Naked_ , he thinks, somewhat innocuously, _that’s why i was cold_. 

Then the larger realization comes, which is, if he was naked, that means that he has a body to be unclothed. 

With a final blink, sight returns, though it’s unreliable. Smears of color appear and disappear from his vision, too quickly for him to hope to make sense of them. Sound returns, in deep rumbles like he’s underwater. _Stop_ , he tries to say, _let me just wait a second,_ but his voice doesn’t seem to work. He opens his mouth and all that emerges is a pathetic sounding croak. 

Syllables garble above him and then something cool and hard is pressed to his mouth. Cold and wet explodes over his lips and tongue, and Castiel thinks _Water_. 

It’s never tasted this good before. 

He gulps greedily until the glass is taken from him. He whines, wanting more, but his wordless request is denied. Touch explodes over his cheeks, his neck, and shoulders, and Castiel struggles to make sense of it. He would like to rest in the comfort of those hands, but they’re gone before he can process their being there at all. 

The sound coalesces into a single word, and Cas blinks, stupefied. He knows that word. More importantly, he knows that _voice_. 

He tries to force his rusted voice to work, but only a low croak comes out. Frustrated, he licks his lips and tries again, putting all of his force into the word. 

“Dean?” 

Touch returns to his cheeks and this time, it stays. He blinks again, and the haze in front of his eyes clears, and he can finally see that face, familiar and beloved. 

“Dean?” he asks, sure that he must be dreaming, even though the Empty never allowed him to do so. Perhaps this is a hallucination, a cruel manifestation of his hopes, perhaps he’s still there, in all that nothing, and this is no more than a dream–

“Cas, stay with me,” Dean says, his voice urgent and worried. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, _I’ve got you_.” His voice breaks on the last repetition and warmth envelops Castiel. 

A hug. Dean is hugging him, somewhat fiercely, if the lack of air in his lungs is to be trusted. 

Castiel blinks, surprised. He’s never needed air before. Come to think of it, he’s never needed water either. 

He shifts underneath the blanket, careful not to dislodge Dean’s arms from around his body. His palm presses flat against his chest. Underneath it, he can feel his heart, beating steady and strong. 

“Human?” he asks, blinking in wonder. 

Dean’s arms release him, though they take a long time to do so, as though he’s regretful. “Yeah,” he says. Castiel’s eyes aren’t working well enough to pick out the intricacies of his facial expression, but he thinks he sees guilt in the depths of Dean’s eyes. 

“It was the only way to get you out. Sam found the spell and Jack powered it up, and I…” It’s then that Castiel comes aware that one of Dean’s hands is bleeding, is leaving smears of red across the blanket and the skin. “I did what I had to do, but there was a catch.” Dean’s breath hitches for a moment before he looks back at Castiel. “You see, we looked into it, and it turns out that the Empty only cares about angels and demons. Humans, it doesn’t have any power over. So in order to get you out–”

“Human,” Castiel repeats, his mind working through the problem. It’s an elegant solution in its simplicity. The ripping and tearing makes sense, as does the pain. 

Anna described tearing out her grace as the worst pain she’d ever felt, like digging a kidney out with a spoon. Castiel understands. His whole body aches with the memory, muscles screaming for rest, his stomach for sustenance, and his nerves for peace. He doesn’t want to sleep; there’s been too much of that. But he does want to rest. 

“Dean.” Castiel pauses to let the word sit on his tongue, to feel the weight of it. It feels as good as it ever did. 

“Yeah, Cas?” 

Castiel could get lost in Dean’s eyes. Have they always been that green? Have those crow’s feet always bracketed them, like lines on a map, proof of a life well lived? 

“Home?” Castiel finally asks, once he realizes that Dean is waiting for an answer. “Can we go home?” 

Dean’s face splits in a smile, kinder than the dawn and brighter than the sun. “Yeah,” he says, though he makes no effort to move. “Yeah, Cas, we can go home.” 

Castiel tilts his head, wondering why Dean doesn’t move. Instead, he looks like he’s working himself up towards something. His teeth bite at his lower lip, while his eyes dart to either side of Castiel, like they can’t bear to land on his face. An unwelcome spike of fear lances at Castiel’s chest. 

“Dean,” he begins, but a harsh movement stops him. 

“I gotta say this,” Dean says, his voice rough. “What you said, before you were…” He swallows before he finally looks at Cas, his eyes brimming over with tears. “I haven’t been able to sleep in a year because all I could think was that I never had a chance to say it back to you.”

Hope flares and bursts in Castiel’s heart. A happiness so bright it’s searing tears through him, and this time, he can feel it, he can feel it all, he can have it–

“I love you,” Dean says, his unbloodied hand resting on Castiel’s cheek. “I love _everything_ about you, you stupid bastard, and don’t you ever, _ever_ try and leave me again, don’t you _ever_ , you’d better die after me because I’m going to stick with you until we’re old and gross and creaky and we’re going to have to figure out how to have old people sex with all my fake joints and–” 

“Sex?” Castiel’s brain might not be working fast enough to pick up on every word Dean says, but he’s aware enough for that. 

Dean blushes, the tips of his ears turning red. “Yeah. I mean. If you wanted. And if you didn’t want, that’s fine, because i know you said once that angels didn’t–”

“I’d very much like to have sex with you,” Castiel interrupts, because even in his state, he can see when Dean is trying to work himself into a hole. “But not right now.” Exhaustion hits him like a wave, dragging him under and only reluctantly giving him up. He looks up at Dean, finally allowing himself to be weak, allowing Dean to step in and take care of him. “Home?” he repeats, wanting nothing more than to sink into Dean’s bed and rest. 

“Yeah, Cas. Let’s go home.” Dean shifts, but doesn’t move, and Castiel is just about to complain about the lack of progress on the home front when Dean leans forward. His eyes are determined, his lips slightly parted, his hand trembling where it rests on Castiel’s cheek. Fireworks and galaxies explode in Castiel when he realizes Dean’s intentions. 

He’s lived through several ice ages, through meteors and wars, through life and death and rebirth. He’s seen the formation of planets and constellations, seen entire solar systems collapse into themselves only to birth a new sun. 

But he’s never seen or felt anything as wondrous as the first touch of Dean’s lips on his. 

The kiss is soft, barely pressure, but it feels like everything. It feels like a promise and a wish. It feels like a homecoming. 

It feels like a beginning. 

—

_Remember, Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.― Stephen King_

_A star falls from the sky and into your hands. Then it seeps through your veins and swims inside your blood and becomes every part of you. And then you have to put it back into the sky. And it’s the most painful thing you’ll ever have to do and that you’ve ever done. But what’s yours is yours. Whether it’s up in the sky or here in your hands. And one day, it’ll fall from the sky and hit you in the head real hard and that time, you won’t have to put it back in the sky again.― C. JoyBell C._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this soothes any and all broken hearts. This is where I'll be living until I die. <3
> 
> If you want to come say hi on tumblr, you can find me [here](https://dothwrites.tumblr.com/). Sometimes I'm salty but mostly I'm pretty damn funny.


End file.
